


S.F.D.

by Margot_Lescargot



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Canon Compliant, False Value Spoilers, Gen, Humour, M/M, Missing Scene, Sahra Guleed POV, Team Folly, Team Met, established Seagale, like major spoilers, post-FV debrief, tiny bit of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24646072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Margot_Lescargot/pseuds/Margot_Lescargot
Summary: This imagines the debrief at Belgravia between the main players immediately following the climactic scene of False Value.  Consequently, it is nothing but spoilers.(Even the title is potentially a spoiler, which is why I've had to substitute a TLA.   Peter would be so proud.)
Relationships: Thomas Nightingale/Alexander Seawoll
Kudos: 58
Collections: Burdens of Responsibility





	S.F.D.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've got this far, I can assume that spoilers for FV are not an issue, and will say that the full title of this fic is:
> 
> **_The Squiddy Forces of Darkness_**

‘Squiddy?’ Seawoll furrowed his brow and looked like he might be in actual physical pain. ‘Did you just say _squiddy_ … forces of darkness?’ He glared at Peter, who lowered his notebook.

‘Yes, sir.’

Sahra cast a quick look sideways at Peter. He bore up much better under Seawoll’s onslaughts these days than he used to. She was impressed. 

‘And what in the name of buggery fuck, might I ask, are the squiddy forces of fucking darkness?’

‘I, er, I don’t know exactly, sir.’

‘You don’t know.’ He sighed. ‘No, of course you don’t. And why the fuck would you?’ said Seawoll. He looked inquiringly at Nightingale, leaning against the wall at the back of the room, who shrugged slightly in response.

They were squeezed into Seawoll’s office at Belgravia, Silver included, having what had become the standard, less formal and more magically-inclined, initial debrief, where it was decided what would go into the official police reports and what would only see the inside of Peter’s green 1930s filing cabinets. 

She’d seen that Silver had looked puzzled, and then vaguely disapproving as the debrief progressed, and realised that, despite her earlier run-in with Peter, nothing had quite prepared the NCA Officer for the degree of obfuscation, equivocation and straightforward covering-up that went into the write-up of any operation involving the Folly. She’d get it soon enough, Sahra thought wryly.

‘Forces of darkness - in the general sense - I get, unfortunately,’ Seawoll continued in an aggrieved manner, ‘I’ve been hanging about with you lot for too long not to. But squiddy?’ Seawoll seemed personally affronted by the word. ‘Why the fuck “squiddy”?’

‘Because… that’s what it felt like,’ said Peter, adding, ‘You noticed it yourself. Sir.’

‘Er, what’s that now?’

‘The… squiddy… stuff.’ Sahra could tell Peter was regretting using the word in the first place, but was powering through. ‘You sensed it. The vestigium of it I mean. At the Print Shop in Gillingham. Don’t you remember?’

Seawoll considered. ‘I remember the…’ His eyes went wide. ‘Fuck me,’ he said aghast. ‘Is that what that was? But it was like…’ he trailed off.

Peter smiled, a tiny bit smugly, before embarking on a swift and fairly technical explanation of vestigia to Seawoll, which she recognised as the one he gave at every IVA course. She saw Silver lean forward and listen with interest and, glancing around the rest of the room, noticed that Nightingale, while attending to something that Stephanopoulos was saying into his ear, was looking over at Seawoll and Peter with a quietly proud look on his face. She wondered which of the two it was aimed at. Possibly both, she decided.

Seawoll held up his hands in surrender as Peter drew to a close. ‘Fine, fine. You win. Squiddy fucking forces of darkness it is. And no, it won’t be going into the report. Not with that fucking name anyway.’ 

He looked up and addressed the room. ‘We’ll work out the finer details tomorrow, but that’ll do for tonight I reckon. Thomas, did you have anything else?’

Nightingale shook his head. ‘No, I don’t believe so.’

‘Alona?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Nothing that can’t wait.’ 

‘Well then. Seeing as we’re all here - and all in one piece - and given that the only significant property damage was incurred by fucking Skinner, and - more importantly – not on our patch,’ he nodded to Silver, before adding darkly, ‘ and whatever weird shit that was going down has, for the time being, been contained…’ he raised his eyebrows inquiringly at Peter, who nodded. Maybe a _hair_ too quickly, Sahra thought, ‘… I think a drink is in order.’ He pushed himself up from the desk. ‘Miriam, if you would be so kind.’

Stephanopoulos huffed but nonetheless rose from her chair and went out of the office, returning a few moments later with a stack of paper cups, liberated from the water cooler. She handed them around, as Seawoll reached over his desk and into the bottom drawer, pulling out a nearly-full bottle of Scotch. 

Sahra took a cup alongside everyone else, and retrieving a bottle of water from her handbag, poured some into it, while Seawoll circulated, slugging a hefty measure of whisky into everyone else’s. 

She felt Silver’s attention flick to the back of the room and followed her eye. Seawoll was saying ‘Sorry, it’s only the 12 year’ to Nightingale, as he half-filled his cup. Seawoll’s back was to Sahra, but she could see the answering look, and smile, that Nightingale gave him before he moved on; from where she was sitting Silver would’ve been able to see it as well. There was no mistaking it, but it wasn’t as if it mattered - not here, now - until she heard Silver shift in her chair and make a small ‘huh’ sound as she pulled her gaze away. 

Oh, thought Sahra. She hadn’t known. But really, she considered, no reason why she should. She took a sip of water. Not that many people in the wider Met did. They kept it pretty low-key, and Sahra understood the reluctance to be the subject of canteen gossip - what canteens there were left, she thought gloomily. Silver had been working pretty closely with Nightingale these last couple of months, but he obviously hadn’t told her…. So, then, if she _had_ thought… _Ohhhh_. And also, possibly, ouch.

Seawoll moved back in front of his desk and put down the bottle, now practically empty. ‘Thank you all for all your hard work these last weeks,’ he said. ‘It’s never easy, but – operationally speaking - I think we came out slightly more on top this time than we usually do, so that has to be a plus. And we’ve even got a live one at the end of it.’ He raised his plastic cup and everyone else followed suit. ‘To nailing the bastards to the wall.’

‘Nailing the bastards to the wall,’ they echoed, and drank. 

Silver took a large gulp of her drink and was silent, frowning slightly. Peter was talking to Seawoll and mentioned something that sounded to Sahra like “ood”. Seawoll snorted and called him a cheeky bugger - Sahra had no idea what it meant, she‘d have to remember to ask Peter in the morning.

Nightingale took the seat next to Silver to ask her a question about the ongoing joint operation, but when he stood to join the others, she continued to look on thoughtfully, rotating her cup absently between her fingers. Sahra could tell she was puzzling over it, trying to make sense of what she was seeing, and wondering whether she was putting two and two together and making five. She was good, thought Sahra approvingly, she didn’t assume anything. 

‘And so,’ Seawoll was saying, ‘aside from dealing with squid monsters of nebulous fucking aspect-‘ He paused. ‘Hold on a minute - Miriam, does that make this one worse than the last one?’

She thought for a moment. ‘Yeah.’

‘Bollocks.’ He sighed, like a man to whom great wrong has been done. 

‘Oh well,’ he drained his drink. ‘I'm not going to worry about that now. Piss off home the lot of you, and try to get a decent night’s sleep. I don’t need to tell you what the next few days are going to be like.’ He looked at Silver. ‘Alona, I’ll be in touch tomorrow. You and me are going to need to talk to the CPS together - and fast - about Skinner. Agreed?’

‘Agreed,’ said Silver and emptied her own cup. ‘And we’ve still got the bodyguard don’t forget.’

‘Good,’ said Seawoll with grim satisfaction. ‘She can stew for an extra day and then you, our Sahra, can have another go, and this time, squeeze her till the pips squeak.’

‘Copy that, guv,’ she said grinning.

‘Right then. Anything comes up overnight, call me or Thomas. Otherwise, on you go, and enjoy what’s left of your evenings. Hold your loved ones near, and all that bollocks. And back here bright and early tomorrow mind.’

Everyone except Nightingale filed out of the office. Stephanopoulos gave Sahra a nod and a “See you tomorrow” before following Peter who was barrelling towards the exit. Silver had paused to put on her coat, but, having done so, was still standing, unmoving, staring abstractly ahead.

Sahra approached her. ‘You alright, ma’am?’ 

She turned. ‘Yes, thanks. I...’ She looked back through the door into the office and Sahra copied her. 

Seawoll was standing by Nightingale’s side and, as they watched, he rubbed a hand reassuringly up and down Nightingale’s back a couple of times and said something in a low voice. They both looked away with a guilty start, and Silver started walking briskly towards the lifts. Sahra kept pace with her and, after a moment, Silver angled her head and addressed her. ‘How long?’

Sahra didn’t bother pretending not to know what she was talking about.

‘Officially? Um, six months maybe. In reality? Longer. Definitely. But that’s only my opinion,’ she added hastily.

‘Well, if anyone would know, you would,’ said Silver with a slight smile. ‘I had no idea. But, then again,’ she shrugged, ‘every day’s a school day.’

They passed into the corridor and walked towards the lifts, Peter and Stephanopoulos were nowhere in sight.

Silver was still clearly pondering it as they waited for the lift to arrive. ‘It’s just… Nightingale. And _Seawoll_.’

‘He’s a big softie, really,’ said Sahra loyally. ‘Deep down.’ 

The lift doors pinged and they both got in. ‘Actually, really quite far deep down,’ she added.


End file.
